


Jon/"Stephen" Drabbles & Ficlets (I)

by ErinPtah



Series: Fake News Drabbles and Ficlets [1]
Category: Fake News FPF
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Pirate, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, BBC Sherlock Fusion, Crossdressing, Ficlet Collection, Genderbending, Italiano | Italian, M/M, Microfic, Satellite of Love AU, Star Wars Fusion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-12-29
Updated: 2012-09-05
Packaged: 2017-12-08 08:17:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 9,260
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/759175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ErinPtah/pseuds/ErinPtah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A compilation of Jon/"Stephen" shortfics, featuring fluff, comedy, and ambiguous-to-admitted romance. (Plus some heart-tugging and headdesking, though nothing deeply angsty will be posted in this one.) Rated due to the occasional sexy scene, but most of these are G/PG.</p><p>At 25 pieces, this set has been marked complete. Check the drabbles-and-ficlets series to find the next set.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jon can't resist.

Jon couldn’t help it.

It was wrong. It was why Stephen regularly decried him as a sexual predator. But the other man was asleep, defenseless – he wouldn’t even have to know.

As quietly as he could, Jon knelt by the couch.

Two fingertips: that was enough. He rested them delicately on that exposed bit of flesh, tracing its soft curves . . .

Stephen woke with a yelp, flailing blindly. Jon shot away from him like a startled cat.

“God, Jon!” he panted, when at last he spotted his accoster. “Why do you have this sick fascination with my ear?”


	2. Off The Record

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Recipe for a ficlet:
> 
> Take one [complaint about Fox News personalities sneaking into the studio to use the microwave](http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/81529/january-30-2007/sign-off---microwave-gift-to-o-reilly). Add one prime cut from a scene involving a [battery with the apparently irresistible label "Lick Me"](http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/182591/january-30-2007/new-military-weapon). Throw in a dash of the gay. Stir.

It was shortly after noon when Greta, packet of ramen in hand, slipped into the _Colbert Report_ studio. She knew from recent experience that everyone would be out on lunch break at this hour, so she could heat up her lunch in the stolen microwave (technically Fox had agreed to let it be taken, but that didn't make the situation any less inconvenient) without bothering anybody.

She walked smartly across the empty studio floor to the bookshelf that held the old microwave, tugged the door open, and pressed a series of buttons which beeped at her as she set the time. As she hit "Start", a voice startled her: "Greta Van Susteren?"

Greta turned quickly to see the host himself, Stephen Colbert, getting to his feet from where he had been hidden by the curve of the C-shaped desk. His tie was half untied and his shirt a bit rumpled, a marked change from the polished pundit she had seen when he visited the _Factor_ , but it was definitely him.

"Oh! Sorry, I didn't know anybody was here," explained the flustered Greta. "I just needed to use the microwave..."

The device in question hummed serenely. Greta fidgeted.

As Colbert nodded, Greta added hesitantly, "You have something on your face—here." She raises a hand to her cheek; the satirist mimicked the motion, and his fingers retrieved a yellow sticker with the words "LICK ME" printed on it.

"Oh. This," he said, with a nervous little laugh. "It's, ah, from a segment," he added hurriedly.

"I didn't mean to intrude," added Greta. "I just thought the studio would be empty now..."

"It usually is," agreed Colbert ruefully, glancing at the floor beside him.

There was an awkward pause.

"And you did sort of take our microwave," continued Greta after a moment.

"We'll replace it," offered Colbert quickly. "Should've done that sooner," he added, half to himself.

There was another pause. Greta fiddled with her gloves.

Then Colbert looked down at the floor for a long moment, as if responding to something behind the desk that Greta couldn't hear over the microwave. "Shh," he mouthed.

The side of the desk was opaque, she realized, and it was certainly big enough to conceal...

The final beeping of the microwave could not have come fast enough. Greta yanked open the door, snatched her ramen, and fairly flew out of the studio.

 

 

"She's gone," said Stephen, letting himself fall to the floor in a relieved heap. "Now, where did I leave off?"

"Give me back that sticker," replied Jon, "and I'll mark the place."


	3. A More Perfect Union

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One possible consequence after Stephen expressed the desire to be [spanked with an original copy of the Declaration of Independence](http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/mon-may-7-2007/dc-madam-list).

"You wouldn't believe how many hoops I had to jump through to get this for a few days. Okay, you probably would. I had to jump through a lot of hoops, is what I'm saying."

Stephen unrolled it; Jon grew suddenly shy, fiddled with the edge of his T-shirt, brushed imaginary dust from the desk.

"Is this _legit_?" asked Stephen with a gasp.

A nod.

"Is this ... because of Monday's toss?"

"Well, yeah."

"Jon," slowly, "you realize that was just a line, right?"

Silence.

"Er. Well."

"I didn't even write it. I think it was Allison's idea."

Jon shuffled his feet. Stephen spread the document gently across the desk and let out a low whistle.

"You're an idiot, Stewart. An adorable idiot, but an idiot nonetheless."

"I know. I don't know what I was thinking."

Stephen rolled it back up with infinite care, slipped it back into its case. "Why would I risk damaging a precious historical document - of which there are less than two dozen original copies in existence - in such a crude and, frankly, disturbing manner?"

"Rub it in, why don't you," sighed Jon.

Stephen reached behind a filing cabinet, retrieved a cardboard tube, drew from it a piece of paper the same size and shade. "That's what souvenir reproductions are for."


	4. We, The People

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> And another possible result of Stephen's interest in sex acts featuring valuable historical documents.

They all came at his call, some with more token protest than others, but, in the end, all of them: eager, hopeful, and expecting to be the only one. The first to show up (Tad, because he was in the studio at the time) sustained this illusion until the second (Mo Rocca, for no very good reason) arrived; it remained shattered thereafter. Even the strongest denial couldn't hold up in the face of the crowd.

Stephen walked out in full professional regalia, suit crisp, tie meaning business. He found O'Reilly and Olbermann glaring daggers at each other; Rob and Ed making awkward conversation, though not nearly so awkward as that of Sam and Jason; Carlson eyeing Jon suspiciously from one side of the room, Scarborough with ill-concealed appreciation from the other; Oliver and Aasif looking like fish out of water, while Amy and Steve had clearly sorted it out and looked like they could barely keep straight faces; Hannity and Colmes studiously avoiding each other's eyes; Geraldo avoiding _everyone's_ eyes; Anderson trying to _catch_ someone's eye, and of course having no luck; and Fonda seeming languidly comfortable but studiously avoiding looking at Lorraine.

Stephen clapped his hands. They stood at attention. Not a few blushes were in evidence.

"Jimmy, if you would."

The screens lit up with the Situation Room, in which Wolf Blitzer read: "In a baffling story, all twenty-one museums and historical archives in possession of an original copy of the Constitution have reported them missing. Experts can find no pattern to the thefts - it's almost as though they were committed by twenty-one different people, none of which were aware of each other. Nobody has yet claimed responsibility or made any demands..."

"That's enough, Jimmy." The image switched off. Stephen looked over the crowd.

"I appreciate the thought, I really do," he said briskly, "but you're going to have to give them back."


	5. Thoroughly Convincified

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Written for a fake news pairing prompt generator (which, sadly, was hosted on Geocities). The prompt: _Jon Stewart and/or any politician make out in a car or other vehicle._

The episode hasn't even broadcast yet, the one they taped this afternoon in which Jon ditched the jokes at the top of the show to plead that anyone with knowledge of Stephen's whereabouts please contact the authorities, but he's walking out the door when a couple of men in black suits and black sunglasses grab him, and he's thrown in the back seat of a black limo with tinted windows and no lights on inside, and it drives off in God knows what direction.

"Your show won't be playing tonight," says a very familiar voice from the other end of his row of seats. "We don't want too much attention drawn to your friend's disappearance."

"Coulda picked a better person to knock off, then, couldn't you?" snaps Jon. He doesn't expect to live through this, and it makes him stupidly brave. "I mean, he hasn't been gone twenty-four hours and the Colbert Nation is throwing a fit."

"He's not dead," says the other man. "He's acting in the service of this great Nation, just, y'know, secret-like. Undercoverage. Nobody's supposed to know. Heh heh heh."

(On the off chance that it survives to do another bad impression of him, some part of Jon's brain is taking notes.)

"Then why are you telling me?" he demands.

"He said he wouldn't do anything unless you knew he was okay. And he is instruplaceable to catching some pretty nasty Al-Qaeda types. People who hate our way of life. You gotta understand, these people want to kill our families."

"Save it for the press. Why should I believe you?"

"I'm going to give you a message, which he said would convincify you that it was really him."

"What is it?" asks Jon, very warily.

Two minutes later the Secret Service guys dump him next to a random subway station and drive off, leaving Jon spitting onto the sidewalk and thoroughly convinced, even though he was sure that Stephen's original message had tasted more like honeydew and not quite so much like a Texas barbecue.


	6. An Emmy Fic They Could Have Actually Shown On TV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> 2007 saw a lot of sexy post-Emmys Jon/Stephen/Steve fic. This one's just an alternate version of the [actual on-stage action](http://youtube.com/watch?v=jepvThXCtVs). Because gratuitous sex is all well and good, but let's not forget the joys of gratuitous touching.

"And the waste, Stephen? What of the waste?" demanded Jon.

"Jon," replied Stephen, locking on to his eyes with an intent stare, "have you forgotten about...carbon offsets?"

Jon's arm shot out and grabbed his shoulder.

"Carbon offsets!" he exclaimed. "Tell me more."

"Jon," replied Stephen solemnly, "if you go on the Internet, you can help pay for projects...that scrub pollution out of the atmosphere."

Jon took a step closer, his gaze never wavering. "Go on."

"And that's not all. You could...plant a tree."

Jon took another step. "Yes..."

"Replace your incandescent bulbs—with fluorescent ones," continued Stephen, voice dripping with _gravitas_. "Instead of a dryer, use a clothesline."

"Oh, that's it, Stephen. Talk _clean_ to me."

"Walk or ride a bicycle, rather than driving."

They were nearly touching now; Jon ran his other hand up Stephen's lapel.

"When you next buy a new car..."

He paused, eliciting a shuddery breath of anticipation from Jon.

"...make it a _hybrid_."

At that Jon let out a throaty growl, grabbed one of Stephen's lapels in each hand, and dragged him into a passionate kiss: fingers clutching, hips pressing together, Stephen's hand slipping into Jon's suit jacket as his leaf blower banged into the other man's thigh.

When they broke apart, breathing heavily, their eyes immediately locked again. Then Stephen's head whipped around to face the camera. His hair was falling in his face; Jon's hips were still grinding ever so slightly against him.

In perfect deadpan, he said, "And the nominees are..."

 

Steve waited impatiently at his seat as Stephen pulled the envelope oh-so-slowly out of Jon's jacket. When Ricky's name was called, he was halfway out of his chair already, and seconds later he was charging onto the stage.

"Wow. I mean, wow. This is just incredible," he began. "So many people to thank, let's see..."

He stopped, because Jon's hand had cupped his jaw, and he allowed his head to be turned slowly until he met the shorter man's smouldering gaze.

"Steve," said Jon, in a tone of the greatest solemnity. "At this Office of yours...do you... _recycle?_ "


	7. Hedgehog's Dilemma

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For a prompt in the FNFF 2007 Secret Santa: "hedgehog's dilemma", with an appearance (sort of) by John King. As demonstrated by a literal hedgehog.

"Jon, why is there a hedgehog in your office?"

If anyone else had greeted him with this line, Jon would have said something like this: "Hello to you too. I'm fine, thanks for asking; and you?"

But it would have been wasted on Stephen, so he just answered the question. "My wife brought it home from the clinic a week ago. Maggie tried to play with it and got poked by the spines, and now she cries whenever she sees it, so Tracey asked if I could keep it in the office for a while. There really isn't enough space here, so it's only temporary. A couple of the writers have already offered to adopt it."

"So what's wrong with it?" asked Stephen, leaning over the cage (and right in front of Jon's view of John King on the TV across the room) to get a better view of the little brown ball of spines and fur. "Ruptured spleen? Hedgehog diabetes? Food poisoning?"

"No, it just got its head stuck in a McFlurry cup. Almost starved before someone found it and brought it in."

The hedgehog snuffled around in the newspaper on the floor of its cage, then turned black beady eyes on Stephen.

"Jon! It's _looking_ at me!"

"Probably just curious," said Jon. "That, or it's hoping you'll refill its food dish."

Stephen sat down across the desk from Jon, but kept his eyes on the hedgehog. "I don't trust it. What if it tries to impale me?"

"It won't. You can even try to pet it, if you want."

"And why would I do that, Jon?"

"To be nice?"

This was answered with a skeptical look of withering intensity.

"You know, Stephen, domestic hedgehogs can be very friendly. They only roll up and do the spine thing when they're scared. As long as you're careful, they like to be touched and held."

Stephen eyed Jon dubiously for a minute more, then leaned back towards the cage.

"Go on," said Jon encouragingly.

"I'm _getting_ there, Jon. Don't rush me."

So Jon sat back and waited while Stephen inched forward, put his hand over the top of the cage, and reached slowly down until his hand was right over the little animal's back.

The hedgehog moved.

Stephen jumped.

In an instant the little animal had rolled up, and Stephen yanked his hand back. "Ow!"

"Careful! You need a band-aid or something?"

"No," snapped Stephen, sticking his fingers in his mouth.

"Oh, good. You want to try again?"

" _No._ " His voice was muffled by his fingers. "I already had a cast on this arm; I don't need a tourniquet too."

"If you say so."

"This is all your fault," grumbled Stephen around his hand. "Never should have listened to your bleeding-heart liberal ideas. Where's my lunch, anyway? I'm only here because you said there would be lunch."

"Pizza's on its way."

"Good."

He glared irritably at the floor. There was a moment of silence, filled only by John King's almost-muted analysis of the latest presidential debate.

"Stephen . . . ."

Stephen took his hand out of his mouth. "What, Jon?"

"I heard about your wife, and—"

"Oh God what did you hear?"

"Just some rumors that you were having trouble, and—"

"Well, we're not. We're fine. Everything's fine."

"Okay, but I just wanted to say, if it wasn't—"

"If it wasn't, which it is, it would be none of your business, so quit sticking your oversized mainstream media nose in places where it doesn't belong and shut up! Just shut up!"

Jon shut up.

Stephen folded his arms and glared, this time at the cage.

The hedgehog unrolled itself.

"It just doesn't make sense," Stephen said at last.

"What doesn't?" asked Jon cautiously.

Stephen waved his hand broadly in the general direction of the cage. "Why would you keep reaching out to something that hurts you whenever you try?"

Jon sighed. "I've been asking myself that for years."


	8. Purple Hamster Means No

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A quick dialogue-only ficlet. Stephen tries to explain his kink. Jon is a little slow on the uptake.

"The thing you've got to understand is that 'no' doesn't mean 'no'."

"Okay, stop right there. Stephen, it's exactly that attitude that keeps getting you hit with sexual harassment suits."

"Those are _different_ , Jon. Those were perfectly legitimate behavior patterns that certain ladies interpreted in an unfortunate manner. Take Meg's latest. All I did was _look_ at her! And she tried to claim it was a leer!"

"She also claimed you had your hand down your pants."

"I had an itch!"

"...right. Listen, Stephen, the point is that when women tell you to stop doing something, you have to actually stop."

"Yeah, yeah, tell me something I haven't heard a million times. The point is, in this case, we would agree from the beginning that 'no' doesn't mean 'no'. So it would be okay, because we would both be in on it."

"I guess that makes sense."

"So if I say 'no', or 'stop', it really means 'keep going'."

"And if you say 'yes' or 'keep going', it means 'stop'?"

"Don't be stupid, Jon. It's BDSM, not Opposite Day."

"Okay, okay. But what if you actually wanted me to stop something I was doing? What would you say?"

"That's what safewords are for. Do you know what that—"

"Not a complete idiot, Stephen. What's yours?"

"Could've fooled me. And I usually use 'purple hamster'."

"...seriously?"

"Stop your smirking! It's _good_ that it's silly. Makes it easier to notice."

"Uh, sure. Whatever you say."

"Look, don't worry too much about it. I'm not going to want you to stop anyway."

"Are you sure about that? Because I'm not exactly a virtuoso at this, and if I accidentally hurt—"

"Jon. I don't need you to have finesse, here. As long as you pound me against the wall like a cheap side of beef until the only thing I have the strength left to do is whimper your name, we're good."

"...."

"Jon? Hello? Are you — whoa!"

"Pants. Off. Now."

"I — mmph — ooh — what, _here?_ "

"...sorry, is it too awkward?"

"Did I _say_ anything about unnaturally tinted rodents, Stewart?"

"Oh! Right! In that case...bend over that desk, and, um, stop your whining?"

"...it's a start."


	9. It's More Of A Bunny-Girl Outfit, Actually

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen convinces Jon to join him for the last episode of _Densha Otoko._ (So, spoilers, but only really vague ones.)

"This is so cheesy," murmured Jon.

Stephen hit him with a pillow.

Nothing more was said for a minute, until the show cut to the theme song and Stephen let out the breath he'd been holding. "It's not cheesy, Jon, it's dramatic! The heartwarming tale of the shy geek who finally meets a nice girl who accepts him. It's uplifting to nerds everywhere!"

"Stephen, you're a millionaire television host with a nightly show and an Internet full of fans who will descend like a tidal wave if you so much as raise your eyebrow. What more uplifting do you need?"

Stephen rolled his eyes. "A cute Japanese girlfriend who's taller than me. Geez, Jon, just because I'm an inspiration to all of geekdom, doesn't mean I don't like a little inspiring myself once in a while."

"This isn't just your way of telling me you want to get me in a maid outfit, is it?"

"No!"

There was a pause.

"Although, since you mentioned it..."


	10. WTF R U Doin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Working out the specific prompt phrase is left as an exercise for the reader.

Jon went over the email four times.

The first, he just glanced at it, as he usually did with short messages from Stephen. The second, he looked more closely, when he realized that he had no idea what he had just read. The third, he slogged painstakingly through each word, trying to piece them into some kind of recognizable meaning. The fourth, he just sort of stared.

Still, when Stephen showed up for lunch a few hours later, Jon had done his best to fill his request.

"What is that _smell_?" demanded Stephen, waving a hand vigorously in front of his nose. "Did you spend the night on a fishing trawler?"

"It's, uh, lunch," stammered Jon. "Just like you asked for."

Stephen eyed the seafood platter on the desk suspiciously. "Remind me what I asked for, again?"

"...'hot prawn'?"

To Jon's surprise, Stephen didn't begin working himself into a lather over What Jon Had Done Wrong This Time. Instead, he sort of melted. Like Jon was a troublesome kitten that gotten itself tangled in a skein of yarn.

"You are _adorable_ ," he cooed, before snapping back to business again. "Now throw that away and help me get these windows open."


	11. The Music Meme

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> AU in which "Stephen" and Jon are both teenagers in South Carolina.
> 
> I tried to do the music meme ("put your playlist on shuffle, start writing when the song begins, stop when it ends"), but quickly found that I couldn't resist revising. So I made the results drabbles (i.e., 100 words exactly) instead, just so they would have some kind of limit.

**Nickelback, "[Animals](http://www.box.net/shared/at44uqaw48)"**  
 _We were parked out by the tracks_  
We're sitting in the back  
And we just started getting busy  
When she whispered "what was that?"  
The wind, I think 'cause no one else knows where we are  
And that was when she started screamin'  
"That's my dad outside the car!"

Stephen has just gotten his learner's, and Jon has a car.

Jon insists on _some_ actual practice, so Stephen reluctantly spends five heart-stopping minutes kicking up dust and grazing trees; and then he pulls over and they're on each other, panting with all the frenzied enthusiasm of teenage boys plus the adrenaline rush of a near-death experience.

But Stephen is still shaking long after it’s over, and then Jon sees the tears on his cheeks. “Stephen! What’s wrong?”

“God, Jon,” comes the whispered reply, “do you know what my dad would _do_ to me if he found out about this?”

 

—

 

**Lifehouse, "[Somewhere In Between](http://www.box.net/shared/4dgcz0g84c)"**  
 _This is over my head_  
But underneath my feet  
'Cause by tomorrow morning I'll have this thing beat  
And everything will be back to the way that it was  
I wish that it was just that easy

Stephen makes lists.

Good: He’s sweet. He listens. He gives incredible head. Bad: He’s not Catholic. He’s _male_. Everything about Jon is either too good to be true, or in direct opposition to what Stephen knows to be Truth.

But after a sleepless night he comes to the unavoidable conclusion: The rules have not changed. And his thing with Jon breaks every rule he has ever learned.

He has to stop. It should be easy.

"I've made a decision," he informs Jon in a stolen moment the next day.

"Oh?”

Jon’s eyes sparkle. And somehow it isn’t easy at all.

 

—

 

**Ben Folds Five, "[Best Imitation Of Myself](http://www.box.net/shared/ongt29y04w)"**  
 _Do you think I should take a class_  
To lose my Southern accent?...  
I do the best imitation of myself  
The "problem with you" speech you gave me was fine  
I liked the theories about my little stage  
And I swore I was listening but I started drifting  
(This is such a "Stephen" song.)

Jon is on one of his "you should just be yourself" kicks again. Stephen is not listening. _You can be whatever you want to be. And what I want to be is the same as what everyone else wants me to be, so it all works out._

Finally he decides to shut Jon up with a kiss. And then more than a kiss.

"Stephen," gasps Jon, "you're avoiding the subject ag--ooh. _Oh._ "

This is exactly the opposite of what Stephen wants to be (who he IS), but it's hardly his fault. Jon just brings out the worst in him.

 

—

 

**Black Audio, "[The Fear Of Being Found](http://www.box.net/shared/g2l3gzie8k)"**  
 _Head into the ground I'm found_  
Falling through fault lines  
I feel see through  
Can you see through me?

[The drabble isn't terribly related, but this is where my mind went.]

The box of letters is wrapped in red ribbon. There are no names, so he can't tell which sister they belong to; but she certainly wouldn't mind him reading them, or she wouldn't have left the box in plain sight on the top shelf behind that crate of old carpet samples.

He sticks one in his pocket, takes it to school. Jon stares. Stephen waits for the laugh with breathless anticipation.

Then: “Stephen, this is, uh, really beautiful. Did you come up with it yourself, or . . .?”

Red-faced, Stephen snatches it back, stammering _it isn't mine_ as he tears it to shreds.

 

—

 

**Josh Groban, "[When You Say You Love Me](http://www.box.net/shared/r87eem3ms4)"**  
 _You're the one I've always thought of_  
I don't know how but I feel sheltered in your love...  
When you say you love me the world goes still, so still inside

Stephen loves church.

At home, he isn't good enough, and doesn't know why. Here, he's still not good enough; but the Church has volumes and volumes that spell out exactly what he's doing wrong, _and_ tell him how to fix it.

So he confesses his sins, he does the penances, then he looks up at the portrait of the Virgin outside the confessional and he’s loved, it doesn’t matter that nobody’s ever said so out loud, he knows it, _he is loved!_

Jon whispers those words in his ear one night. He can’t understand why that should break him down.


	12. Microfics

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meme. The rules: Ten fics. Ten genres. Ten words or less.
> 
> Featuring references to _Cardcaptor Sakura_ and _Neon Genesis Evangelion_ ([with art](http://sailorptah.deviantart.com/art/Rebuild-of-Colbergelion-182383796)).

**UST**

Stephen won't laugh. Jon is not unbearably, achingly adorable.

...Dammit.

 

**Crossover**

"Kinomoto's not out-ribboning us this time, Jon. Wear the bloomers."

 

**Angst**

Stephen's not sorry. Jon suspects he's forgotten how to be.

 

**Crack**

Magic! Jon, newly-tentacled, freaks. Stephen feigns shock, hides the wand.

 

**Smut**

Stephen's self-control is iron. Until "Roll 212."

 

**First Time**

Jon sleeps afterwards, soundly; Stephen's up till morning, watching.

 

**AU**

Stephen, remembering Stewart's bandaged, distant eyes: _I mustn't run away._

 

**H/C**

The cast removed, Stephen still pouts: "Kiss it better?"

 

**Humor**

"Uh-uh, Stephen. You bought the eagle; you clean that up."

 

**Fluff**

The studio roof: city lights, shooting stars, holding Jon's hand.


	13. The Affair

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is one of those brief handfuls-of-words that I held on to for a while with the plan of doing more with it...and then the rest never came together. Enjoy the standalone domestic cuddling instead.

"Are you coming to bed?"

"In a minute, honey. Just let me check CNN's homepage one more time..."

"Oh, no you don't. I know how this works. You say one more thing, then it turns into five more things, then ten, then it's half past midnight and my feet are cold and I have no one to put them on. C'mere."

"Wha — hey! Put me down!"

"Nope."

"...You know, this is size discrimination. Just because I happen to be a tiny, tiny human being, that doesn't mean you have the right to carry me off to the bedroom whenever you feel like."

"Yes, dear."

"If I can't even get respect at home, how am I supposed to keep the correspondents in line? They'll be all, _sure, Stewart talks a good game, but_...Ooh."

"You like that?"

"Uh. Yes. Yes, I did. Do it again."

"Oh, good. You have no idea — mmm — how much it turns me on, knowing that you go to work every day — help me with this clasp, would you?—"

"On it — _oh,_ that's nice."

"—where all these gorgeous, powerful men — ummm — are falling at your feet — and you turn them all down and come home to me. Mmm."

"...hey, honey, can I ask you something? I mean something serious."

"Only if I get to keep my face here while you're asking."

"Right. Well, uh, how would you feel, hypothetically speaking, if I wanted to have a lesbian affair?"

"Would I get to watch?"

Stifling a giggle, Joan thwaps her husband with a pillow.

*

"So this isn't the 'indulging your not-so-secret fantasies' type of lesbian affair. And if it were the 'I'm leaving you and the kids to run off with this woman' type of lesbian affair, you probably wouldn't be asking my permission."

"Probably not."

Tracy's voice drops a few notes. "It isn't the 'first step on the road to swearing off men altogether' type of lesbian affair, is it?"

"No!" Joan chews on her bottom lip. "It's more a case of 'someone's being tortured with the idea that I might be interested, and I was about to let her down easily when I realized I wasn't sure I wanted to'. That's a thing, right?"

"I don't see why not. So, is it Stephanie?"

"Is it that obvious?"

"We are talking about the same Stephanie, yes? The one whose office is wallpapered with pinups of Sarah Palin? The one who insists that it's perfectly acceptable to greet all her female guests with kisses? The one who can never keep her hands off you?"

This is the kind of person Joan is: she's alone except for her partner, she's already half naked, and she still can't let herself laugh without making a halfhearted effort to hide it. "Point taken."


	14. Temptation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Drabble inspired by kribban, who wondered if Stephen still considers Jon his archnemesis even after they get together.

"You forgot to pick up my brand of salad dressing? Just what I'd expect...from my archnemesis!"

"We're not even having salad tonight, Stephen.”

"A likely story."

"It’s true! You said it would deaden my palate to the subtle flavors of your thrice-burned turducken."

"You won't slither out of this one so easily, archnemesis! Tonight, we do battle! Sacred honor demands it."

"Uh...does 'do battle' by any chance mean 'slippery naked wrestling until we end up having awkward-yet-vigorous sex on the kitchen floor'?"

"Maybe! It depends on whether you pulled the dastardly trick of forgetting the olive oil, too."


	15. And It's F@#king Golden

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Stephen reacts to [Jon's recent exchange with an Emmy](http://www.thedailyshow.com/watch/tue-september-20-2011/a-few-gay-men---a-look-back-at-america-s-military-policy-on-gays).

Stephen runs the whole two blocks. It would be faster to call, but he's avoided that whenever possible since he discovered Jon's trick of turning down the speaker volume. The _Daily_ staff don't have to ask; they wave him in the right direction with gentle eyerolls and fond smiles.

"JON!"

Less than an hour out of his show polish, Jon's all scruff and pasty skin and water-blue eyes that flick self-consciously between Stephen and the two new Emmys. "Uh, yes?"

"Did you just—?" Stephen has too many feelings right now to bother with complete sentences. "About us? In front of _everyone?_ "

"Should I not have?" stammers Jon. "I thought...part of the point of being out is that we get to make stupid jokes about it now."

He doesn't get it. He doesn't get it at _all_ , and where can Stephen possibly start to explain? How can he make the enormity of it sink in? This thing he is, it was supposed to be a shameful secret—he's known that in his bones since even before he knew what to call it. This thing he has with Jon, _that_ was to be avoided at all costs, or as a last resort hidden in the darkest corners and always, always denied. It was never supposed to be able to grow into a marriage like any other; it wasn't supposed to be able to serve its country like normal people did; it was a joke because it was different and unnatural, sure, but certainly not a joke because it was casual, and acceptable, and _normal_ —

"Stephen...? Are you okay?"

"Something in my eye." Stephen has to fight his trembling lips to form the words. "Thass' all. Just something...water. A whole lot of water, in my eyes...."

Jon's not the huggiest person, but he has a way of standing close enough that it's only logical to cling to him, sobbing against the worn-soft grey slope of his shoulder. Stephen will explain himself later, or try to; but even if Jon doesn't understand, it's going to be okay. This thing Jon's given him will go right on being real, and he never, ever has to give it up.


	16. Scars

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A more serious drabble. This Stephen's still recovering from his childhood, and not just emotionally. With [illustration](http://sailorptah.deviantart.com/art/JxS-Blue-Scars-253056468) (borderline NSFW).

"I don't know where they are," blurts Stephen one evening. "Will you show me?"

"You want me to take a picture?" says Jon, stupidly.

Stephen meets everything face-to-face because it's less intimate than turning his back. Jon runs his thumb over each stripe and fleck of puckered, whitened skin, his touch painting a map into Stephen's mind. It takes a while.

"Huh," says Stephen, with trembling bravado. "Less than I thought."

"There shouldn't be any."

Old instincts hear that as an accusation. With effort, though, Stephen understands he's not being faulted.

He squeezes Jon's hand. "Some of them are healing."


	17. Consulting Pundit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Fusion with the BBC's _Sherlock_.
> 
> I also have a vague idea that Olivia Munn gets to be The Woman, who combines pseudolegal activities with strategic nudity in order to blackmail the government to take stronger action against animal abuse. Anyone who wants to take this and run with it is encouraged.

"They've heard of me?"

"Heard of you, admire you, adore you, want to give you awards, have extended offers to procreate with you...they _love_ you. You have _influence_ with these people. They are the makings of your very own angry mob just waiting for you to aim their pitchforks."

"Let's just stick with 'heard of me', okay? Uh...does that mean they're reading my blog?"

"Don't be ridiculous. They're reading _my_ blog."

"I don't know. They _could_ be reading my blog...."

"Stewart, _your_ blog has a four-thousand-word critique of the efficacy of federal programs in reducing economic blah blah blah I haven't even finished this sentence and I'm already bored. And that's not even counting the footnotes! _My_ blog has a giant header in pretty colors that says JON STEWART, CONSULTING PUNDIT, because the folks love good branding, and the top posts all combine names like 'Bill O'Reilly' and 'Brian Williams' with verbs like 'eviscerate' and 'destroy' and 'skullf@#k'. One of us is earning you the adoration of the blogosphere, and it isn't the one who doesn't even know how to use Twitter."


	18. Useful Italian Phrases

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Taking advantage of Stephen's [favorite endearment](http://www.colbertnation.com/the-colbert-report-videos/407251/january-30-2012/threatdown---barack-obama--fundamentalist-flippers---coked-up-diplomats). With thanks to [this vocabulary list](http://www.omniglot.com/language/phrases/italian.php).

"There!" snapped Stephen, slamming the last cupboard door as Jon entered the kitchen. (Jon had a sneaking suspicion he'd finished five minutes ago, but held off the final slam until his audience arrived.) "I have put away all the dishes by myself, like a common 99-percenter. Are you happy now?"

"Thrilled," said Jon sincerely. "You've done very well, _principessa_."

Stephen was still facing the cupboards, but when he went rock-still Jon could perfectly imagine the little twitches around his mouth, the dark intensity in his eyes. "S-say that again."

"You've done well."

" _Jo-on._ You _know_ wh—"

"— _principessa_."

A visible shudder ran through Stephen, making him grip the counter and gasp for breath. "Jon...."

" _Buona notte_ ," continued Jon in a low voice, sidling forward. A month's worth of lessons hadn't given him much vocabulary, but he was a wizard at faking the accent. " _Può parlare più lentamente_." 

Stephen whipped around, collar loose, hair falling in his face. "I don't know what that means," he said, swallowing.

"Does it matter?" said Jon with a shrug. " _Dov'è il bagno? Vuole ballare con me? Principessa._ "

With a throaty moan Stephen launched himself across the tiles, clutching fistfuls of Jon's shirt and thrusting his hips upward. "Jon, oh God, if that means anything other than 'please do me now', you better tell me soon."

Jon kissed the soft skin just below Stephen's ear. " _Il mio aliscafo è pieno di anguille_ ," he murmured, and grabbed Stephen's shoulders just in time to keep his balance as he was hefted roughly up onto the table.


	19. Terms & Conditioner

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt from politicette, "Jon and Stephen exploring kinks of Jon's that Stephen doesn't necessarily share."

This was not how things were supposed to go.

"What?" protested Jon, flinching under his boyfriend's judgmental glare. "You've asked for things that are _so_ much kinkier! I would've thought you'd be happy I'm finally getting into the spirit."

"This is _nothing_ like that." Stephen clutched at both sides of his head, eyes wide and shot through with horror. "Your kink might _mess up my hair_."

They worked it out eventually. Jon got to pull out just before the end of the blowjob and drape opalescent stripes across Stephen's face and chest, as long as Stephen got to put on a shower cap first.


	20. Next Monday Through Thursday, A.D.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: "Take the last fictional series you watched/read/listened to, and write or draw a crossover." MST3K AU.

"I don't understand it, Frank," wailed Dr. Forrester, tearing at his (already precariously uneven) hair. "This is the most soul-sucking footage we could find! It's worse than _Monster A-Go-Go_ and _Santa Claus Conquers The Martians_ put together! How are they not bleeding from the ears?"

Frank shrugged. "Beats me." He peered at the monitor, where Jon's brain waves were holding steady at "mild despair tempered by amusement," then jolted up to "healthy with a side of adoration" as Stephen T. Colbot made a particularly snarky quip. "It's almost as if they came to us already desensitized."

"Well, it's not fair!" snapped Forrester. "What are the odds we'd kidnap the one person on Earth who's been successfully inoculated against C-SPAN?"


	21. Heartless

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: lyrics from Kshandra, "[It takes the truth to fool me / And now you've made me angry](http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=tbfs5w8lSBo)"

"What do you think you're doing?"

"I--"

"This is cruel, you understand? Heartless, and cruel, and mean, and awful, and heartless, and--"

"You know you said 'heartless' twice?"

" _That's because you have twice as much of no heart!_ "

"Stephen, that doesn't even make -- listen, I'm sorry, I didn't know you would--"

"Just tell me why, Jon! Why would you do this to me? Is it some kind of sick joke?"

"Wha...?"

"Publicity stunt? Are there photographers hiding in the bushes? Or is the Gay Mafia trying to send me a message? You tell Rocky I'll get him his money, I swear, just give me a few more days!"

"Wait, you owe _who_ money?"

"That's not important! Look, Jon, you're my friend and I tolerate you, so I'll give you one chance to turn this around. Just tell me why you did it, and I'll accept your apology."

"Stephen...I kissed you because I wanted to kiss you. That's all."

"...And here I thought my tolerance _meant_ something to you."


	22. It's What Lincoln Would Have AU'd

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pairing prompt for the following AUs:  
> 01\. Wild West  
> 02\. Cyberpunk  
> 03\. Shapeshifters  
> 04\. Pirates  
> 05\. …In SPACE!!  
> 06\. Born Another Gender  
> 07\. Schoolfic  
> 08\. Police/Firefighters  
> 09\. Urban Fantasy  
> 10\. Harem

**01\. Wild West**

"Stephen, this is ridiculous. They may look a little different, they may have weird customs, but they're still people. Why shouldn't we help them out?"

"Why? Jon, haven't you been listening to a word I've said? These illegal immigrants are taking American land and sucking all the buffalo out of the system without giving anything back! And have you _seen_ the kind of violence they bring with them? We need to close our borders, and do whatever we can to make these people go back where they came from!"

"How can you be so heartless? There are kids out there! Kids who are potentially dying of thirst, and could be saved if we would just show them how to take full advantage of a cactus."

"I'll show them what to do with a cactus, all right."

"That's enough, Stephen. You've said your piece. It's time for us to vote."

"Fine. But anyone who votes down my proposal is going to be sorry fifty years from now when we're all speaking English."

 

**02\. Cyberpunk**

"Right again! You're always so intelligent, Stephen."

"I know I am," said Stephen smugly. "But it never hurts to hear you say it."

"Intelligent. Witty. Moral. Steadfast. Handsome. _Devastatingly_ handsome."

"Why, Jon, if I didn't hear that from everyone who passes me on the street, I'd say you were flirting with me."

Raised eyebrows; a half-smirk overflowing with roguish charm. "And what if I am?"

"Well, in that case...run sex scenario #82."

The simulacrum kisses him, slow and gentle, a composite sensation randomly generated from details in Stephen's initial memory-dump. This VR program is the best on the market: even with only a handful of memories, it can record enough data to extrapolate nearly ten to the power of some-large-number-Stephen-didn't-bother-remembering variations.

That figure is for physical experiences only, of course. Without a scan of Jon's brain, it has no hope of even approaching the man's wit.

But as the imitation Jon pushes Stephen up against the wall in uncharacteristic silence, Stephen reminds himself that it doesn't matter. After all the mean things Jon said at the end there, he doesn't _want_ to be reminded of what Jon's authentic voice sounds like. The VR version will skip all the nonsense and get straight to banging him, which is all Stephen really wants anyway.

Isn't it?

 

**03\. Shapeshifters**

Jon keeps his abilities rigidly buttoned-down in public, whenever he's able. Employees get used to the fact that sometimes, when his temper or some other strong emotion gets the better of him, he locks himself in his office and they have to settle for being directed by phone.

There's no way he can keep it under control in bed.

Stephen gets used to running his hands across any part of Jon's body and finding the fur thicker than usual. He tries not to pout when he goes for a kiss and Jon refuses, afraid of mauling his lips and tongue with temporarily knife-sharp teeth. He accepts the apology promptly after Jon's claws punch through the surface of the mattress inches from his head, leaving puffs of stuffing dribbling out from fabric wounds.

It's a flaw, a handicap, a freakish problem. It's supposed to be the kind of thing you tolerate, out of generosity of spirit (of which Stephen has _plenty_ , thank you very much).

There's no way a fine upstanding pillar of the community is supposed to _enjoy_ it.

So Stephen pretends. When his heart beats faster at even a glimpse of Jon's irises swelling green-gold, he firmly stamps it down. When Jon apologizes for not being able to top him, Stephen insists that he wouldn't care for it anyway, even without the danger to soft internal tissues. When a photo of a younger Jon with full fuzzy ears on display makes the rounds of the news services, temptingly adorable, he does the unthinkable and turns off FOX for the duration.

But there's always going to be some trapped corner of him that yearns to taste blood in his mouth, and won't be sated until he has Jon inside him, barbs and all.

 

**04\. Pirates**

Cold blankness sweeps over Jon as he watches Kilborn's gutted rig take water. He's not sure how many people are still on it. Judging by the small size of the group huddled with him (stripped of their weapons and kept in place with bayonets), far too many.

A dark-haired pirate with a red-beaked blue parrot on his shoulder and, incongruously, fine wire-rimmed glasses struts over to them. He'd been giving a speech to the crew; Jon wasn't listening to the details, but it made them clap a lot, and at one point start into a rhythmic chant which broke off with a hush when he made a simple gesture. Now he stares the captives up and down, with a particular focus on Jon — whose cuffs are torn and buttons are half missing, but whose outfit is still in better shape than most — before grabbing the end of the rope around his neck. "I'll take this one."

Jon has to trot across the deck to keep from being strangled by the pirate captain's brisk gait. "It's probably too small for you," he says — babbling like he's at the tailor's, because apparently the more crisis-oriented parts of his mind have decided to pack it in and go fishing. "You'll have to let it out. And replace the buttons. These are a custom-made set, and a bunch of them are gone, and the odds of you getting them back are...."

"Blah, blah, blah," interrupts the pirate. "You're lucky I like a man that can talk about fashion."

A wooden door slams behind them. Jon sees lamps with red glass panels, a sword and striped shield hanging on the wall, a shelf with more artifacts than books, including a sepia-toned globe with MINE scrawled in heavy black strokes across the Atlantic.

"You can keep the coat," the pirate informs him, with an air of great generosity. "I'll even have my people fix it up for you. Now shut up and strip."

Jon's stomach turns. Desperate for time, he stammers, "Don't I get to know your name first?"

"What?" demands the pirate. "Are you telling me you haven't heard of the Dread Pirate Colbert?"

"Uh...it sounds vaguely familiar...is that you?"

The bird on Colbert's shoulder flutters its feathers and squawks, "Legend in his own mind! Legend in his own mind!"

"You shut up," Colbert orders it. To Jon he adds, "This is The Word, so-called because she knows too many of them for her own good. And I'm the feared and revered Stephen Colbert, and if that name doesn't strike terror into your tiny little heart, then hold off on the stripping for a minute and come over to the bookshelf. I've got spoils to show you."

 

**05\. ...In SPACE!!**

Jon _is_ a little short for a stormtrooper, and wishes everyone would quit thinking they're the first one to point it out.

Charlene disappears for six months and comes back all about lightsabers. Jon's privately impressed, although he doen't let Stephen know that; Stephen is Very Serious about blasters, to the point that he reads a bedtime story to his every night before putting it away.

Darth Factor turns out to be Stephen's father. Also Charlene's, which in retrospect makes that kiss seriously awkward, even if Stephen did only do it to make Jon jealous in the first place.

It's kind of scary how quickly Stephen raises a rebel army. Jon's not used to being part of anything taken this seriously.

They're the only three who know the whole story; Stephen deserved to know, of course, and they both wanted Jon to hear it. Charlene got Darth Factor to switch sides at the last minute, and he's the one who killed Darth Murdoch, only to expire himself moments later; the battle re-opened old wounds. Before he died, Charlene told him she forgave him.

"I don't," says Stephen flatly.

This time, as the presumptive future king-by-marriage of a recently formed diaspora, Jon privately agrees with Stephen.

 

**06\. Born Another Gender**

"Sixty-ninth."

"I heard."

"Hotter than all but sixty-eight women on the planet. The _planet_ , Jon."

"It's very impressive, I agree."

"Which means I have boyfriend dibs on all but a maximum of sixty-eight of the world's men."

"Uh, Steph—"

"And you are, at worst, the sixty-ninth luckiest man on Earth."

"Setting aside all the other logical flaws in that statement, couldn't some of the hotter woman be polyamorous?"

"Don't get smart with me, Stewart. You might jeopardize your access to the human race's sixty-ninth most desirable vagina."

"All right, ma'am."

"What I'm trying to say is, I expect _worship_ tonight. And I think the voting readership of _Maxim_ will agree that I deserve it."

"Uh-huh. Hey, Stephanie, have I ever told you that I routinely consider myself the _first_ luckiest man on Earth?"

"That's a good start."

 

**07\. Schoolfic**

Stephen has loudly questioned the value of every teacher and every subject, even the ones he's never taken, but throws himself into Mr. Tyson's seventh grade science fair assignment with gusto. He comes out with a full scale model of the Milky Way and its adjacent galactic clouds, bristling with scraps of paper containing over two hundred star-related facts, some of which even their astrophiliac professor hadn't been aware of.

In spite of the A+ in-class grade, it gets disqualified from the science fair for not being in "experimental format." Jon writes a scathingly funny letter to the editor of the school paper (one B. Williams) explaining why this is BS.

Stephen normally dismisses the paper too, but Mr. Tyson makes sure he sees this page. And, after finding out that he doesn't actually know the letter's author, decides to make a point of introducing them.

 

**08\. Police/Firefighters**

"Come on, Colbert, you know I hate to do this."

"Then don't! You know the claims are baseless!"

"I hope they are! But _you_ know the department can't just ignore accusations of racial harassment. Especially when they fall against a cop who writes up a group of young Hispanic men for, and I quote, 'acting suspicious'."

"How was I supposed to know they were Hispanic? I don't see race! All I saw is that they _were_ acting suspicious! And...and un-American!"

"Unless you can give me some concrete activity they were engaged in...."

"Well...they were standing in front of a bookstore, looking at the window display...."

"And? Reading's going out of fashion, but it's not un-American yet."

"And...and they were _making fun of Bill O'Reilly's new book._ "

"...I don't think we have a sensitivity training seminar for that."

 

**09\. Urban Fantasy**

The fame lich sneaks through the studio window one afternoon and tries to suck all _The Daily Show_ 's vitality for itself. Craig puts a crossbow through its chest, then, after it recovers, offers it a job.

It's been very good ever since. Rehabilitated, you might say. Having multiple Peabodys and Emmys is a halfway decent salve for the gnawing ever-present hunger. Not a perfect one, though. Oprah had it on, once; it admitted that its existence was a constant challenge, then cried a little, and she hugged it and praised it as an inspiration to dark things everywhere.

By now Jon Stewart looks approximately twenty years past his actual age. Nobody's ever made the connection.

 

**10\. Harem**

_See:[I Am Qumarica (And So Can You!)](http://ptahrrific.dreamwidth.org/171870.html)_.


	23. Snowflake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There's something hazardous in Stephen's break room. For an image prompt. (The picture's at the end.)

Jon should have known better by now. Opening any kind of drawer or cupboard or storage space at Stephen's studio was a hazardous experience, best carried out by trained professionals. But Stephen had insisted that he wait in the break room, the coffee pot was empty, and there was a neon blue Post-It on the door above it labeled "COFFEE." What could go wrong?

The instant Jon opened it, something stiff, metallic, and pointy nearly took his eye out.

He scrambled backward as the silvery spire popped forward, revealing other spires attached to its base, which wasn't the base at all because it kept coming. One of Stephen's creepy dimensional portals must have been holding the thing, and was now discharging it bit by bit: enough metal to form the frame of a mid-sized pup tent, and in almost as complicated a configuration.

Jon hid under the table.

There was a pile of glittery silver fabric with a couple of metallic plates sewn in attached to part of the thing -- the center, Jon realized when it tipped fully out of the portal and began to tip over. At this point it looked mostly like a giant fake snowflake, its diameter wider than Jon was tall. And were those...bits of tinsel? Some kind of demented Christmas decoration?

The demented whatever-it-was landed with a thunk with its side against the table, two of its radial spires having landed on the ground and wedged themselves against the base of the fridge.

Jon was definitely not trying another drawer for coffee. At this point, no one was even going to be able to reach the coffee pot anyway.

Playing it safe, he stayed under the table until a familiar pair of wingtips sashayed through the door. "Stephen! Hey, I'm down here. Sorry about the, uh...."

"My costume!" exclaimed Stephen. "You found it!"

Jon inched out from his hiding place. "Your...what?"

"My _costume_ ," Stephen repeated, pulling the snowflake to a vertical position, then reaching through the spires and holding up the fabric. "I was going to wear it at the opening ceremonies of the Olympics when I was up in Vancouver, but then I lost it! Where was it hiding?"

The fabric's true form struck Jon with Magic Eye suddenness: a leotard, the snowflake radiating from its back like a peacock's tail. It was about Stephen's proportions, even. On the other hand, it was strapless, and visibly designed for someone with cleavage.

"It was in the coffee cupboard," said Jon, still keeping a wary distance. (You never knew what else might fall out.) "Someone must have...uh...accidentally put it there." And by 'accidentally' he meant 'deliberately, in order to spare Stephen becoming a target of moral outrage for the very people whose approval he most desperately craves.' (Or was that too optimistic? It was just as likely to be 'deliberately, in order to annoy the horrible boss.')

"Well, that's stupid. How are people supposed to find the coffee? That explains why my interns are always so tired." Stephen squeezed past the costume, letting it go (it fell back against the table with a BANG that made Jon jump), and stuck his hand in the cupboard in question.

"Stephen, don't--!" cried Jon, too late. Stephen's arm vanished an inch or so past the end of the shelves; when he got all the way in it looked as if he'd been cleanly amputated just below the shoulder.

"Quit being a sissy, Jon. It's just quantum rearrangement. Make Neil Degrasse Tyson explain it to you sometime." He rooted around invisibly for a few moments, then lit up and drew his arm back. Clutched in his hand was what appeared to be a few strips of black cloth.

At least, until he held them up by the shoulders.

"And here's the costume I was going to wear when I went to Iraq!" enthused Stephen, displaying a slinky black Cher-style catsuit. "Now I know what I'm doing for Fleet Week this year! C'mon, Jon, help me carry this."

In spite of himself, Jon ended up lifting one of the snowflake costume's horizontal spires, the one nearest the door, while Stephen hefted the opposite one (the catsuit was hanging over it like the world's shiniest clothesline). "Uh, where are we going?"

"My office!"

"Not, uh, the wardrobe room?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Jon. I know I've aged well, but my youthful figure still isn't quite what it used to be. Can't give these to wardrobe until I know if they still fit, can I? You'll have to help me into the Olympics one, of course."

It was surprisingly hard to argue with. "Of course," said Jon, and, trying to look at least somewhat put-upon for appearances' sake, led the way.


	24. PDA

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the prompt "public displays of affection."

When Stephen was in complete denial, their interactions were bewildering, but at least all the stress was on him. Jon just had to remember not to be hurt by the rapid-fire switches between "really grabby, though in a platonic enough way to have plausible deniability" and "Jon? Who is this Jon? Oh, the guy sitting next to me? Yeah, I barely know him."

Early their relationship, he went through a stage of "if we get within three feet of each other in public, people will get suspicious!" Not that he expected to have to wrangle this himself. He moved around as usual, and counted on Jon to monitor his movements and keep a safe distance. Jon got harangued a lot. More than a few nights he lay awake wondering if this relationship was worth the trouble.

But they had managed to survive, until Stephen finally blossomed out of the closet...and into an openly territorial stage. This one wasn't about rules and boundaries so much as about grabbing Jon and furiously making out with him every time Jon seemed to be smiling at someone else a little too long. 

"Mmph -- Stephen! We're trying to have a meeting here!" 

"Are you, Jon? _Are you?_ Obviously not trying hard enough, since you keep letting your correspondents make bedroom eyes at you!" 

"...Stephen, those are Wyatt's normal eyes." 

"Wait, are you saying he _always_ does this? Better tongue-lock in front of him a while longer, until he gets the picture about who the boyfriend here is."


	25. Labor Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt "worth." An extended version of [how Stephen spent his Labor Day](https://twitter.com/StephenAtHome/statuses/242263434849316864). (Stephen's wearing [this dress](http://www.verawang.com/EN/wedding/bridal-collection/spring-2012/132-helena), to make politicette happy.)

Jon opens the door silent as a whisper, and catches his breath in spite of himself.

The back of the creamy-white gown scoops low under Stephen's shoulder blades, then explodes at the waist into a frothing mass of lace and sheer billows. It's gathered in a trail of waves at one side (pinned at the front, Jon knows, with a giant gauzy rose at his waist), and the top layers are pinched into fullness, showing off the seemingly endless further iterations underneath. It's like he's wearing a flower. A hand-wash-only flower that cost more than Jon's car.

Stephen had been touching up his hair (and the angle of the mirror is wrong to show the door), so of course it takes him a minute to realize he has company. "It's bad luck to see the bride before the wedding!" he exclaims, turning...and relaxing when he sees Jon. "Oh. It's just you."

"Just me," echoes Jon. He shuts the door behind him. "'Just' your man of honor. What kind of a greeting is that?"

"Don't get me wrong, I'm happy to see you...Careful!" Stephen steps back, pulling the dress away from having its hems trod on by Jon's polished shoes. "At least I think I am. Is something wrong? What are you doing here?"

He tenses as Jon cups his waistline with both hands. The giant rose yields easily to the pressure of Jon's arms. "Couldn't stay away," he murmurs, rising up on his toes and pressing his forehead almost to Stephen's. "Not only that...I don't think you really wanted me to."

"Jon." Stephen squirms, placing his palms flat across Jon's chest. It doesn't help hold him back. If anything, the warmth of the contact makes them feel that much closer. "Jon, we can't do this. I'm getting _married_."

"Yeah." When Jon speaks, Stephen can feel the breath against his face. "To....um...who are we pretending you're getting married to, exactly?"

Stephen lets out a heavy sigh. "Does it matter? Some handsome jerk who will never love me like you do, _obviously_. Whoever will inspire you to the most heated fit of territorial passion is fine by me."

"Right." Jon squares his shoulders and fixes his mind on an image of...hm, maybe Mitt Romney?...no, Paul Ryan is younger and hotter, not to mention actively distasteful instead of just wishy-washy. "To some schmuck who's going to spend the rest of your life _using_ you," he hisses, settling back into character. "You're worth so much more than that."

"Stop!" begs Stephen, struggling in fine hapless form as Jon pushes him up against the mirror and paints hot kisses across his cheeks and neck. "We can't — we shan't — we mustn't — you will _ruin my dress!_ "

"Don't worry," says Jon — grinding their hips together once, hitting exactly the right angle even through the six million layers of fabric. "I'll swallow."


End file.
